


Embers

by LadyKes



Series: Different Perspectives [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Light Angst, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKes/pseuds/LadyKes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd hoped there was still an ember somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is somewhat the fault of [Fire_Sign](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign) because I couldn't decide which idea to focus on and did a tiny little tumblr poll to help me decide.

It had been a hell of a day. A hell of a month, actually, and possibly a hell of a year, if he wanted to be particularly pessimistic about things. He generally tried not to be, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. Arresting a mayor for his carnal involvement with and subsequent murder of underage girls, for example, made him very pessimistic. 

He unlocked the door to the little red-brick bungalow he’d once shared with Rosie and wearily put his hat and coat on the stand just inside. Of course she wasn’t here now. Hadn’t been for over a year, and yet sometimes he still wondered if he’d come home and smell her perfume or a macaroni cheese bubbling in the oven. All he smelled now was that the kitchen rubbish needed to be emptied. 

He took the rubbish out, removed his suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie, and then contemplated what he might make for dinner. The thoughts of Rosie’s macaroni cheese had made him hungry, but he wasn’t sure he had the skill to make any for himself, and he didn’t think he had the energy to go out to Strano’s tonight. He really ought to consider having a part-time cook and housekeeper come in, although even considering doing that felt like admitting that Rosie was never coming back. It wasn’t that he saw his wife as just a cook and housekeeper, never that, but he worked long hours and knew he could use a bit of help with things about the house. 

Perhaps he’d put an advertisement in the Argus sometime. For now, though, he’d just make a sandwich as he had last night and the night before that and the night before that. 

He was settling down to a solitary dinner of sandwiches and whiskey in his kitchen when the doorbell went. One of the neighbor kids had probably kicked their football into his back garden again. He really ought to tell them that he didn’t mind if they went after the football whenever they needed to as long as they didn’t trample all over the flowers. 

He swung open the door, expecting to see little Tommy Cawthray, then blinked to see Rosie on the doorstep instead. She looked uncomfortable and he couldn’t blame her for it. They hadn’t spoken in weeks, not after his last abortive attempt at a reconciliation. He’d been all but tossed out of Margaret’s home after Rosie had refused to even see him. 

“Rosie!” he said in surprise. “Er, would you like to come in?”

He couldn’t think of why she was here, and couldn’t decide whether he wanted her to say that she was here to reconcile or not. There had been so many angry words and ill-advised discussions that the love they’d once had had been buried underneath them all. Any fire eventually went out when covered over long enough. But perhaps there was still an ember somewhere. 

“Yes, thank you Jack,” she said correctly, and he held the door wider as she stepped past him. She looked determined and stepped confidently into their - his - their - parlor. She was a strong woman, which was something he’d always appreciated about her. He knew that it took all kinds, but he’d never been interested in fainting misses.

“May I take your hat or get you a drink?” he asked politely, closing the door behind her.

“No, I don’t think I’ll be here that long,” she said, not unkindly, and he nodded. So perhaps not a reconciliation then. 

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” he offered, and meant it, though he didn’t know that she’d believe him. He sat down in a chair opposite hers in the parlor and waited. She’d clearly come here for a purpose, after all.

“I want a divorce,” she said abruptly, and the little ember winked out. She’d never said that word, even through all their arguments and accusations of had who done what or failed whom. And it was clear from her face that she wasn’t willing to be swayed in this. She’d made up her mind. 

He took a deep breath and swallowed, hoping that his voice would be steady. He thought of himself as someone who could keep his emotions in check after so many years of war and police work, but hearing that phrase made his throat close. 

“I wish you didn’t, but I’m not surprised that you do,” he replied in a rough voice. Her face was still unyielding, though, and he knew it was because he hadn’t agreed yet. 

“Shall I … go to a hotel?” he offered after clearing his throat, because they both knew they had to have grounds for the divorce. There were women of a certain profession who were happy to feign a night with a married man, especially if it meant they didn’t have to actually ply their trade. He didn’t particularly want to consider what visibly stepping out on his marriage with one of those women would do to his reputation as a police officer, but he would do it if Rosie asked. He wouldn’t trap her in a marriage she clearly didn’t want to be in anymore. 

She looked more uncomfortable and less carved in granite, which at first he thought was due to his question, as obliquely-phrased as it was, but then she spoke.

“No need,” she replied, raising her chin in an attitude of defense. The little ember that had winked out was abruptly doused in several gallons of water. As he had told Miss Fisher, a marriage was still a marriage, and he would not break a vow he had made. He had been tempted, certainly, most recently by Miss Fisher herself, but he had not done anything about it. It seemed Rosie had, for reasons he really didn’t feel he had the right to ask. 

“Ah,” was all he could manage to say. Certainly there was more he wished to say, more he wished to shout, if he was being truthful, but there was no point. If she’d already taken that step, either for the purposes of the divorce or because she’d met someone else, then things were done. 

“Will your father’s barrister be handling the paperwork?” he asked, focusing on the small details to get through the larger ones. Her face softened slightly, though not towards him. She knew that if he was asking that question, he wouldn’t be likely to ask any others right now.

“Yes. I’ll have the paperwork filed soon,” she said calmly. George Sanderson’s influence and money meant that the case would likely come up in the magistrate’s court fairly quickly. Jack would need to engage his own barrister before then, though he wasn’t planning to contest anything. Fortunately, he knew several and had an idea of which of them were honest and not likely to gouge a man for fees.

“Of course,” he agreed. “I’ll have my barrister contact your father’s for the court dates and all that.”

“Good,” she replied, and stood again, which of course made him stand as well. “I’m sure they’ll be in contact.”

She started to leave the room and he hastened to open the front door for her. He wanted her to say something else, to tell him why, but he knew that wasn’t likely to happen. And even if it did, it wasn’t likely to make any difference. They’d just be repeating old arguments. She stopped on the front porch and turned around, though.

“Jack, I --” she started, and he paused with one hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry it ended this way.”

“So am I,” he replied roughly, feeling his throat crowd again as his hand squeezed around the doorknob. He was sorry that the love that had sustained him through the exhausted rigors of his early constable days and that terrible war was gone now. He was so sorry that he hadn’t been able to give her the children they had so desperately wanted. He was so very sorry that as they’d grown older, they’d grown apart rather than together as he had wished them to. He was sorry.

She nodded, and he thought he saw tears shining in her eyes as well, but she just turned away and walked down the steps. He closed the door behind her and leaned against it heavily, feeling like he’d closed more than one door in that action. 

Perhaps he’d just have whiskey for dinner tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Until 1923, only the husband in Australia could file for divorce on grounds of adultery. Wives couldn’t do a thing about it if their husband stepped out on them. After 1923, either person could file. If no adultery had actually occurred, it was not uncommon for it to be feigned for the purposes of filing for divorce.


End file.
